The 'NOT' Diary of Draco Malfoy
by Missy Padfoot
Summary: HarryDraco: For your information, Draco Malfoy does not have a diary. He's also NOT a hopeless romantic nor is he gay. Just so you know. Slash, EWE


**Saturday, January 1**

It's tradition for Malfoys to contribute some form of literature to the family archives. The Malfoy Archive contains thousands of Dark Arts/Potion journals. There is also an odd piece, here and there, of a creative work (poetry, novels, etc.). Second to the number of research journals are memoirs and personal journals.

To whoever is reading this (which I hope is a descendent of mine for obvious reasons) I will tell you now that this isn't a memoir. I do not want to reminisce in my childhood (which I always look back on fondly) only to compare it to later events in my life. I would like to make clear that no matter the choices my father Lucius made, it should not reflect on me. It had been a large argument during my trial; sins of the father and all that rot. My father won't be freed from Azkaban for twenty-two more years and until then I have to make sure to not lose more of our fortune to the Ministry. We are still the wealthiest family in Britain, however, the gap has been closed a considerable amount. Father expects me to gain all the money he had lost back. Although I recognize it's his fault not mine, I do have a duty to this family. To whoever is reading this, I hope you take this as serious, if not more, than I do.

Tomorrow is Pansy's ball. Although she and I have been treading on broken glass ever since I broke off our engagement the week after Potter defeated the Dark Lord, she recognizes my eligibility and my attendance would mean more acceptances to her invitations. Even though, when thought of, I am considered something of a coward (I admit it's my fault for not murdering an old, crippled man) it has not made a difference in polite society. Life is good.

**Monday, January 3**

I will not pretend to understand the odd looks mother gave me when I told her where I was headed off to, dressed in my finest robes. It's not as if she does not know the responsibility I have to carry the Malfoy line. I have no idea what is wrong with her.

I did not find good candidates to be the future Mrs. Malfoy; worse, I will have to re-evaluate the pre-exquisites I'm searching for. Besides Pansy, Millicent had been the only other pureblood in my age group. Most of the attendees, though no lower than second generation, were half-bloods. I got invited to attend another ball; this one in France and on St. Valentine's Day.

**Friday, January 7**

I had visited the Ministry earlier in the day to register my new house elf at the Department of Magical Creatures. Although I was reluctant to face Granger and get lectured on elf breeding or whatever she was ranting about, I wanted an excuse to step out of the manor.

After putting up with the bushy haired bint, at the lift going towards the atrium, I bumped into Blaise.

"Draco." He said in surprise. I looked down at his clothing.

"Zabini," I said back, "I didn't know you were an Auror.

Blaise had the decency to look embarrassed. "I'm still a trainee actually. Last time we spoke I was still considering entering. I'm a crap friend, aren't I?" At that, I felt a pang of guilt. At one point in time (fourth to sixth year) we had been the closest of friends. If I ever considered someone a friend, he'd be the only one who would come to mind.

Of course, I didn't let my guilt show. I raised an inquisitive brow instead. I then asked when he was going to graduate from his training. Without him answering, I knew it would be soon. He did not have trainee robes; he had actual Auror robes on. That meant he was already going out on the field, _at least._

"April. There's a large chunk of us this year. It's going to be largely publicized by the ministry." I nodded but I knew better. Potter was in that graduating class and it was really _him_ that they were publicizing. I also knew that Blaise knew this too.

"I'm glad everything is working out for you." I said in an aloof and distracted voice. The truth was that I was genuinely happy for him. Blaise, although a proud pureblood, had played his cards close to his chest and at the most opportune moment, he left for Spain. I had wished (and still do) to have been in Blaise's place. He had no familiar obligations; his father had died when Blaise was a toddler and his mother often forgot she even had a son.

I noticed the look that Blaise gave me and I couldn't help but feel nervous. Again I didn't let myself show my discomfort. "Join me for coffee." He said in his deep, smooth voice. He then added with a teasing grin on his face, "Fortescue has added drinks to his menu." Blaise had been around when my obsession for the drink began, right after Blaise had come back from Spain. I said yes, of course.

We had grabbed a table outside of Fortescue's. The section blocked off for the tables was devoid of any other customers. It was a warm January day, but being that it was England, it was still bloody freezing and the other (sane) customers chose to eat/drink whatever they had purchased inside the shop.

Ever since I had my first sip of coffee (roughly three years ago) I haven't been able to pick up tea. The tastes, in my opinion, don't compare. Mother says my aversion to tea is due to my forced daily 'tea time' with the Dark Lord; who found my flinching amusing and wanted me to be part of the group who joined him every day. For obvious reasons, I couldn't say, "arghhh and see your ugly face every day which, by the way, makes me piss myself a little every time I see it?". Perhaps mother's theory could have truth to it, but really, it could go either way.

We finished our coffees and when it was more than time to go we exchanged goodbyes and promises to do it again.

Blaise: Good coffee.  
Draco: -nod-  
Blaise: I might want to come back next Friday afternoon.  
Draco: funny, I had the same thought.

Yes I know; we are terribly Slytherin that way.

When we shook hands, Blaise held on a little too long. His hands were soft, cold yet firm. Honestly. If his hands were so cold, he should buy gloves. I felt a little used at the end of the exchange.

**Saturday, January 29**

Today mother and I had another talk. She kept insisting that my standards were too high and that perhaps I should lower them or look in different places. She told me, quite snidely, that there was no man or woman who fit the description I was looking for. Hurt, I told her that _I _fit the description and I deserve something just as good.

She walked off in a huff.

**Author's Note:** I'm waiting for a new computer to update Bitter Sweet (check my profile if you care to know why :P ). Until then, I'm posting this story. Hope you like and please review!

PS: January is a short month. February will be longer than January and then March will be longer than February. December's chapter will be the longest chapter. As the days go by, Draco will use "journal" more and more and it will get more personal and descriptive.


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